Shorts-off (Book 3)

Though Kalyan finds Satomi irresistible, she's resistant to the idea of becoming his lover.

Kalyan, nearly twenty years younger than his would-be lover, would do anything to become Satomi's cougar bait. Including but not limited to: meeting her on her own terms, dying his hair, aging his face with make-up and being the subject of a little PDA.

Excerpt

I just want to get my dick wet.

Fuck. Now I sound like an asshole. But damn if I’m tired of dating rosy palm. Six months since my last good lay. Since my last lay actually, without the assistance of my hand. This fact is driving me nuts. It’s like I have this monster clawing from the inside to get out and fuck everything. Trees, pillows, couches, shoes—everything is fair game. Everything is a potential hole.

God, if I let that monster go, I’d be in jail. Humping legs walking by isn’t right. It isn’t right that some of those legs don’t necessarily belong to women either.

I think about driving up to Vegas. It’s about a five-hour drive from California, but five hours is a bit excessive for paid assistance. Prostitution isn’t legal here, and in all honesty, it’s not about getting laid. Not entirely. It’s about having a warm body to cuddle at night. It’s about smelling her hair, her skin, rubbing against her softness, pulling her close and…

I’m driving myself crazy. I can’t do this. Staying indoors is a prescription for madness. I’ll go get some coffee or something. And, then I’ll be up all night thinking about fucking a mermaid. Whoopee for me! It’s probably my fate for a while, unless those masturbation blisters on my hands have gone down. Which they haven’t.

The keys in my hand make my idea real. I just need to get out. So, smart phone with downloaded coffee app in hand, my hard-on and me drive the zero point five miles to the closest college hang-out.

Ordering my sissy drink while I try to cover up the bulge in my pants with hands in my pockets, I smile at the girls behind the counter -- managing not to think about how they’d feel naked in my arms. Okay, okay, I didn’t think it twice.

Getting out of my head helps. Being surrounded by people keeps my mind from wandering even if some of those legs look tempting. But getting out gives my control back. I don’t feel the clawing fuck monster trying to get out. Talking to the baristas brings me out of my head and back into the here and now.

I pay, grab my drink and sit in a corner where I can observe life. You know, other people who regularly get laid.

Coffee doesn’t give me release, but it does give me a taste of mocha, sugary-smooth goodness. And a good look at this odd girl. Just so I’m straight on things, I’ve nicknamed her, “Felony.” She looks way too young for me with her school girl braids, but for the color. Her hair is pure white, like old-lady-grey but beautiful. Not kinked out or rough. I wonder how those braids would feel splayed across my thighs. They’d make great “handle-bars”. Something to hold onto while those puffy lips sucked on my cock. Fuck. Back to being the asshole again.

Watching other patrons I see a guy in a suit with a newspaper. Probably relaxing before he goes home to his wife and kids. Taking for granted that he has someone, probably bemoaning the fact that he does. Now I’ve made myself jealous of the suit executive and glide my sights over to a lady talking on her cell phone. Christ lady, we don’t need to know about your horrible date last night. In fact, you might meet more good guys if you stopped talking on the phone and smiled at the dude in the baseball cap over there that’s sneaking glances at you over his iPod.

That girl with the white braids is reading. Oh my God, she’s got that erotica book, something about the different colors of grey. I’ve heard that book is straight up mommy porn. The balls on that girl are way impressive. I mean, reading about bondage and sex here? Isn’t that a book girls curl up in bed and masturbate with? One can only hope.

I get the flash of hazel-brown eyes and a wildfire shoots down to my feet. Crap. She caught me looking. Heat rises up to my cheeks, and I take a sip of coffee. Fuck. Now I’m that creepy guy that’s staring at her. Yet, that’s not what her smile tells me. I peek. She’s still looking at me.

Just to be sure, I look behind me and come face-to-face with a wall. Nothing transparent there, so yeah, she’s looking at me. Or the freaky Dali-like painting. Crap. Do I go over to her? What do I say? Oh now she’s laughing. What is up with this girl? Great. Now I’ve done it. She’s getting up to leave, probably so she won’t be stared down by a creepy guy who can’t keep it together in his own home, alone. You fucking dick.

Oh shit. Is she walking over here? Is she going to talk to me? Oh crap, crap, crap. What do I say? Maybe she’s just going to the bathroom. Nope. I get a good look at her jeans and button down blouse as she stands before me. God I love buttons.

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